I am drifting. Lying on a raft of weathered boards, tied to the dock with ropes thicker than my wrists. Bobbing gently and sometimes softly, violently on the sea. I can hear the birds. Stupid seagulls, replete with french fries from the tourists who don't know any better but mercifully have gone in town for supper. The sun bakes me into a pale golden hue and I am working from my toes to my nose, to make every muscle relax completely and keep my mind clear at the same-
Bridget.
I am waking up, loathe to leave my place in the dream. Ben is over me. He is kissing up my throat, his hands are pulling back the sheets, I can feel his hunger from the raft and am still looking for purchase.
Oh hell. I'm fully awake now, returning his kiss, putting my arms up around his neck, opening my eyes to see that he is naked and beautiful. I am lifted off the bed briefly and returned and I cry out and then that won't happen again because his hand is over my mouth and his lips are against my ear whispering to be quiet. He's so intense and he forgets that he can't be like that. Sometimes it is too late and I have to talk him back down from his black cloud.
We are finding our cadence now. His arms are locked around me and then I am pushed down and turned over and strung out on his initiatives. He is unrelenting. Sleep is for the weak, love is for the broken. Bridget is for Ben. He just whispers Everything is alright. I am here and you are safe.
There is no mistake. There are new rules. We keep changing and testing and trying life in different sizes and colors just like he is trying different ways now to make me scream, choke or tremble. I can't handle him, this. This is too much and I burst out with his name, abruptly halting his trip to heaven in which I am in danger of falling back to earth, slipping from his hands, slick with sweat and tears and he reaches down and pulls me back up to him, secure this time. Safe this time. So much better. I am in no danger anymore. I bite hard into his shoulder when I come. I never thought heaven would feel like this.
***
Not surprisingly, the other boys are backing Lochlan. Ben again wants to enforce the plans we made up over the summer so that we can have more time together, ironically so there will be less fighting, clearer definitions and no hurt feelings. Only look how well Bridget does when she has unrestricted access to Lochlan and why fix something if it isn't broken (but isn't it?) and Hey Benny, have you asked Bridget what she wants or are you just arbitrarily changing things up because you feel threatened?
Threatened? Broken? I look up, eyebrows raised in irritation. What the hell, guys? I'm trying to be happy, and that's very hard to do when everyone is pulling me in different directions. I feel like a stuffed bunny being fought over by two determined children. Eventually I'm going to have my ears ripped off and then no one's going to want me.
They are choosing sides. Loyalty to Lochlan, to history. Ben still reigns as the outsider, the new guy and God help him, he doesn't do anything to ever change that.
I argue that it's my life and they don't get to choose and maybe I believe in what Ben is trying to do here, maybe finding some peace and eradicating some of the constant tension would be nice. Why wouldn't you want that? They have reasons and they begin to throw them out, one after another until the tears are streaming down my face and even Lochlan says enough.
Just enough.
Ben touches the back of my head. He runs his hand down my hair and then my hair is gone and his hand is on my back. I am shaking, dabbing at my eyes with the napkin and attempting composure. We are in public. They have already sent the wait staff away numerous times, the restaurant is virtually empty at this time of day anyway.
Ben levels a threat at Lochlan. If he doesn't like what he is being offered he's free to go.
Lochlan swears and then Ben does the most frustrating thing ever. He abruptly stops fighting and throws an entire buttered croissant at Lochlan. Lochlan asks him what the fuck his problem is as the pastry hits him square in the chest.
This is bullshit.
Ben shrugs and throws a grape, and then an apple slice too and Lochlan warns him to fuck right off.
From quietly across the table, PJ wields a pancake and suddenly they are playing extreme frisbee with breakfast items and then finally Lochlan gets pissed off enough (he hardly ever participates) and picks up his entire bowl of fruit salad and aims. I protest, I'm sitting right beside Ben. Lochlan's not going to miss but that's a lot of fruit and I have this pretty dress on. Lochlan says, look at you Bridget, you're a goddamn mess anyway and lobs the bowl toward us. Fruit salad rains down everywhere. I am grabbing handfuls of the fruit off my lap and throwing it back at Lochlan and the manager rushes over, horrified. We are asked to leave. Ben is grinning from ear to ear. He's very good at turning one thing into something else entirely. He is unpredictable and childish and wonderful. And it's those same qualities that worry the others so.
He takes out his credit card and asks the restaurant to charge the costs for cleaning and time to him and adds a significant amount for their graciousness. The manager tells Ben he can come back anytime but the rest should not return. PJ is completely impressed with that. It was his idea. He loves that place. I could defuse it but I say nothing. I am still shocked and angry that they would gang up against Ben like that.
We drive back to the house in a caravan. Like a funeral procession. I am bearing pall and somber in my duties. I know what needs to change, everyone knows. This isn't new. Ben just needs to learn to approach conflict, touchy subjects with a less aggressive approach. Only I don't think he has that sometimes. We talk about it a little and he promises to work harder. We get to the driveway and I ask if we can just keep going. Just drive for a little while. Ben complies and steps on the gas and we are winding through the mountains above the house soon enough. I look for my owl while we talk. The drive is short though. Soon school will be out and I like to be there when that happens. I tell Ben it's time we head back. In short order once again we are at the driveway. Ben pulls in and parks. It seems like no one else came home either yet.
Out of nowhere, Lochlan pulls in behind the truck and gets off his bike. I am just opening my door when I hear shouting and his helmet rolls to my feet. Dammit, I think and I pick it up. Now it's going to have to be replaced. But I don't have time to think very hard about the helmet. Lochlan and Ben have squared off on the other side of the truck.
Lochlan has decided he isn't going to play by the rules anymore.
At all.
He won't have his access to me restricted, he won't allow for only seeing me when Ben is busy or away, he won't be told when he can and can't see someone he has looked after and loved his entire life.
His eyes flicker to me. Looked after, he said. The fucking nerve of that.
I stand there, holding my grudge. It is so heavy and awkward. I am straining under the weight and yet I refuse to let go. He sees this. He is so angry at me. I love him and I can't help this. This is the way it is. I promised my twelve-year-old self something and I keep my promises. Every last one.
Ben watches the exchange. It makes him crazy that he can't hear us when we talk without saying anything.
I repeat Ben's earlier threat so that Lochlan knows nothing is going to be different. I obey my husband because it's my choice too but I can frame it in this way and magically piss off the ENTIRE UNIVERSE in the process. And then maybe everyone will leave me the hell alone.
When he's busy, Lochie. When he's away, okay? I can't do any more than that but if that's enough for you then that's what I would like.
I go inside. I drop my grudge on the polished floor and grab one of the handles. Inside, I drag it around behind me because it hurts less than trying to manhandle it all over the place.
***
He is too rough, scrubbing my face with the hot washcloth. Cradling my head in his hand while he tries to remove the bruises and scrapes along with the dirt from my twelve-year-old skin, Lochlan is frowning, near tears but still composed. Barely. He is scaring me and at the same time he is trying to comfort me. We'll get you fixed up okay? Everything is alright. I am here. And you are safe.
